


Redo

by lil0urry



Series: klance songfics [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: IT'S ALL I CAN WRITE, Keith is a gay disaster, M/M, Reunion, This is set in the 90s, hance love biggy, hunk got money, late night adventures, lots of 80s references, roller skating, this is literally just a fluff fest, writer!keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 00:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil0urry/pseuds/lil0urry
Summary: “Enough about me, though, what’s it like to be Keith Kogane nowadays?” Lance tugs on a lock of Keith’s hair again. “Still writing?Keith bites his lip. “Uh,” he says, remembering the the boredom, the sameness. The daze, the numbness, the emptiness. Working a boring insurance job, living in a shitty apartment, the typewriter gathering dust back in his room. “I really think I peaked in high school.”Lance straight up laughs at that. “That’s impossible! You’re out of your mind,” Lance says. Their stop is coming up, the train is slowing down. “You know, cause we never hooked up in high school.”Or the one where Keith and Lance haven't seen each other since high school, but they get a second chance.Inspired by the song80's Filmsby Jon Bellion





	Redo

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Okay so this is part of this series of Klance fics I'm writing inspired by different songs my Twitter mutuals recommended. All of them stand alone.
> 
> This is for Taz @cryptidkogane :) I hope you like it!
> 
> And if you haven't listened to 80's Films by Jon Bellion, I suggest you do.

Keith Kogane is sitting on his ugly, lumpy couch by his lonesome in the dark. The flickering light of the television illuminates the living room of his shoebox apartment somewhere in Brooklyn. The ball drops, and the year is officially 1995.

Keith sighs and leans over to the cluttered coffee table, moving away old take out cartons to find the remote control and turn the TV off. He just doesn’t give a shit, or so he claims. There’s nothing special about it. So humans picked a random point on the Earth’s trajectory around the sun and called it a milestone. So what.

He downs the last of his whiskey and pretends to clean up a bit before he gives up. Like any other day, he heads to bed. He eyes the old typewriter on his desk gathering dust. He closes his eyes.

It’s 1995. He’s 26 years old. There’s nothing special about it. So what.

 

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If Keith’s being honest, he very often forgets what day of the week it is. There’s nothing that sets his days apart, nothing special, nothing interesting. The days bleed into one another, melting into a haze together. It’s always the same.

He wakes up at the sound of his annoying digital alarm clock, gets dressed in his boring suit, red tie, brews a cup of coffee and grabs a granola bar before heading out. He takes the same train with the same people every day. They squeeze together on the crowded car heading towards the city, never touching, never speaking. Keith gets off, steps into a busy 3rd Avenue and walks to the office of the insurance company he works at. Yeah, he never thought this would be his life either, but it is. Today’s shaping up to be no different.

During his lunch break, Keith eats a sub at the office’s kitchen by himself. He wonders if he should call Shiro back, remembering the message on his answering machine. His brother is worried, Keith knows. They haven’t really seen each other since he moved to Ithaca with his child and wife, who was offered a position at Cornell’s philosophy department. And they haven’t spoken much either, given Keith’s apparent inability to pick up the phone most days. He makes a mental note to give Shiro a call tonight, and heads back to his desk.

He talks to a few potential clients and plays solitaire in his computer for a few hours (he’s clearly a multitasking god) before a familiar face walks through the door and heads towards him.

“Hunk?” he says, surprised. It’s Hunk Garrett, from high school, holding a pretty woman’s hand. He still looks the same, a bit older obviously, but still so clearly Hunk, with his wide shoulders and dark brown skin and radiant smile. 

“Keith!” the man exclaims with a smile that Keith finds inevitably mirroring. Hunk bumps Keith’s fist and then hugs him warmly. “How have you been, man? It’s been ages!”

“Hah, yeah, really,” Keith replies, scratching the back of his head. “Must’ve been, what, eight years?”

“Eight years! Oh god, I feel old,” he groans and his voice dissolves into chuckles. Hunk turns to the woman next to him, squeezing her hand. Keith catches the glint of the matching rings. “So this is my wife, Shay,” Hunk tells him, his smile so big and pretty and happy. He turns to Shay. “It’s Keith Kogane, from high school!”

Her smile is as pretty as her husband’s, her big brown eyes shine with it. “Oh my God!” she says, throwing her arms around Keith. “I can’t believe it! You’re the Keith that blew up the Home Ec kitchen!”

“What!” Keith squeaks, and jumps away from Shay, his cheeks heating up. “You know about that!?” He turns to Hunk with scandalized eyes. His old friend is giggling.  _ Giggling _ ! “You!”

“Come on, man!” Hunk says, eyes sparkling with mirth. “That’s still the best story to tell at parties.” He and Shay sit down on the chairs in front of his desk after Keith takes their coats. 

“Oh god,” Keith says. He plops himself down onto his own chair and covers his head in his hands in embarrassment.  _ High school _ . 

Shay keeps on grinning. “It’s alright. We’ve all set the kitchen on fire at least once,” she says, looking at Hunk with a mischievous glint to her eyes.

“Shay!” Hunk hisses. “We agreed not to talk about that!”

Keith looks on fondly, a heavy feeling sinking into his stomach. It’s been eight years. His friend looks so peaceful, happy, changed.

_ It’s 1995.  _

Keith forces a smile. “So what can I do for you guys today?” 

“Oh.” Hunk’s face softens. “We’re looking for some insurance and stuff. Since, you know, Shay’s pregnant and all...” He squeezes his wife’s hand.

“Yes,” Shay continues. “We’re four months along!”

_ They’re 26 years old. _

“Oh, congratulations!” Keith says.

“Thanks, man,” Hunk replies with a grin. 

“So, on the insurance. We have some plans that might interest you, here…” Keith continues.

_ (There’s nothing special about it.) _

 

Keith helps Shay put her coat back on. Hunk thanks Keith for selling them their new insurance plan and claps him on the back.

“You know,” he says before he leaves. “Some of us get together Friday nights at McCarthy’s Pub, you know the bar down on 34th? You could join us tomorrow, if you want. I’m sure the old gang would love to see you.”

Keith gives Hunk a small smile. “I’d like that,” he says.

“I’ll see you, then,” Hunk tells him, clapping Keith on the back once more.

“See you,” Keith says, waving at the couple’s retreating figures.

_ So what. _

 

✵   ⋆ 　

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.  . ⋆ 　　　　　  * 　 . 　

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　*  . 　 ✫   　　 ✦

　 ✹  .

 

Keith calls Shiro when he gets home at night. He places the phone between his cheek and shoulder, moving around the kitchen to get some dinner going, the phone’s cord dancing around him. He’s thinking some pasta might be nice.

“Hello?” he says when someone picks up.

“Keith!” Shiro says through the phone. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Keith chuckles, adjusting the phone on his cheek again. He gets some water boiling. “How are you? How’s Gina?”

“I’m alright,” Shiro says cautiously. “Gina’s doing great. Won the spelling bee again.”

Keith’s heart clenches at the thought of his goddaughter. His lips break into a nostalgic smile. “Yeah? She’s so smart,” Keith says, and tacks on with a teasing tilt. “Clearly, she got that from her mother.”

“Mm,” Shiro hums in reply, ignoring the jab. “She misses you.”

Keith sighs, leaning on the wall next to the receiver, eyeing the boiling pasta. “Me too.”

“You can come visit, you know?”

“Shiro--”

“We all miss you, Keith,” Shiro cuts him off. “It’s really been a while. Ever since Mom died--”

“I’ve been--”

“You’ve been busy, yeah, doing what?” 

Keith stays silent, runs his hand through his hair. Shiro sighs.

“How are you?”

Keith thinks of the boredom, the sameness. The daze, the numbness, the emptiness. “I’m okay,” he says.

“Well,” Shiro says after a while. “If you need anything, I’m here, you know that right?”

“Yeah,” Keith replies.

“You can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah.”

A sigh.

“Take care, Keith.”

“You too, Shiro.”

✫ 　  . 　 　　 　

*  　　.  ✺ 　 　.

　　　*  *　　✵ 　　

　  . ⋆  　　　　　　　　   　 　　·

　　 +  ✫ 　　　　　* 　　　

　.  ⊹ 　　　　　　 ✦ 　　 .

 

The city at night is loud. Cars rush and honk past, the sidewalks crowded, live music spilling out of bars. Keith walks to McCarthy’s Pub from the subway station, all the way wondering if it was  _ really _ alright to come. What if Hunk was just being nice? What if they didn’t want to actually see him? Keith doesn’t even know who is coming. He doesn’t even know if he is early, or late, Hunk had never said the time. 

But still, despite his anxious thoughts, he walks into the bar. It is a cozy kind of bar, all green and brown, Irish themed, with punk rock music playing softly in the background. The atmosphere of the place feels relaxing and familiar, even though he feels a bit awkward, still in his work suit and red tie because he couldn’t decide on what to wear. This definitely doesn’t seem the thing to wear to this kind of bar.

His eyes scan the room, not spotting Hunk anywhere before he heads to the bar to get something to drink. He orders his (overpriced) whiskey and turns looks around again when a mop of brown hair blinds him from everything else. Midnight blue eyes watch him closely, way too closely, completely invading his personal space.

“This cannot be Keith Kogane.”

Keith feels his stomach do a full flip. He hasn’t heard that playful voice in ages. He pulls the face away from him and stares. It’s him. Lance McClain, in all his glory. His skin still dark and tan, his face still sharp and pretty, with a tongue and smile to match.

“Lance!” he exclaims, and if his voice sounds a little bit breathless, well… he will find something other than the butterflies in his stomach to blame. He’s not in high school anymore, goddamnit. “It’s good to see you.”

Lance pulls him into a friendly hug.  _ God, he smells so good _ . 

“It is good to see you too!” Lance replies. “What a surprise, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, um.” Keith feels the tips of his ears turn red. “I bumped into Hunk earlier this week and uh, he told me to come.”

“Awesome,” Lance says, smiling earnestly. “I’m glad you came.”

“Lance!” Keith hears from behind the bar. The bartender is smiling up at them, handing a glass to Lance. “ _ Buenas noches _ .”

“He-ey, Mikey,” Lance says, grabbing the glass from the man and starting a conversation with him in rapid Spanish. Keith watches on, almost in amazement. He hasn’t seen Lance McClain in almost a decade. It feels a bit surreal. He used to have the biggest crush on him, back in high school. Keith’s mind seems to be suddenly flooded by so many memories. Lance, his chemistry partner, smiling over test tubes and teasing Keith. Lance, surrounded by their friends, waving at Keith from across the school’s lawn. Lance, bright and beautiful onstage at every single of their high school theatre productions. Lance, cheering on Keith whenever he stepped on the pitch at his baseball games. Lance, looking gorgeous in his prom suit, smiling at Keith while saying  _ keep in touch, mullet, mkay? _

Lance, Lance,  _ Lance _ . He’s  _ here _ .

The man in front of him looks older, but still bright and beautiful. He is less thin and lanky than he was back in high school, lean muscles filling up his fitted black t-shirt pretty well. He’s wearing a navy blue jacket with a hood, looking casual and comfortable. Lance’s legs still stretch on, black pants hugging them in all the right places.

Lance puts his hand on his hip and smiles at Keith, who blushes immediately. “Admiring the view?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“N-no, I was just--” Keith stammers. 

Lance giggles and slings an arm around Keith’s shoulders. The touch feels electric, making his head go fuzzy.

“I was just kidding, though I have been told I make a stunning view,” Lance jokes.

“You do though,” Keith admits and bites his tongue. What the fuck, why did he say that out loud? He isn’t even drunk. He feels so embarrassed-- but now Lance is staring at him with a blush of his own and Keith can’t even bring himself to fully regret it.

“Come on,” Lance says in reply. “Let’s go sit down at our booth! The others will be here soon.”

Lance leads them to a comfortable booth surrounding a circular table in a corner of the bar. They sit on opposite sides, Keith facing away from the door. He sets his drink on the table and looks up again to find Lance staring at him. The Cuban man smiles.

“So,” Lance says. “How have you been? What’ve you been up to? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Well, I’ve been--”

Lance’s eyes flit to the door. “Hold that thought,” he tells Keith before turning to the door and waving. “Pidge! We’re here!” he shouts across the bar. Keith turns around, spotting the ginger haired woman at the door. Keith can’t believe that’s actually Pidge Holt.

The beautiful woman walks towards them. That’s Katie fucking Holt. She’s as tiny as Keith remembers, but still, she must be the one that’s changed the most since high school. Her eyes are still big but her face just seems more mature. She’s wearing a grey business suit over a lime green button up, tiny black high heels and her hair long, up in a ponytail, a few stray hairs falling on her face. The image of her now clashes with the Pidge Keith remembers, with her pixie cut hair and always wearing her brother’s clothes, too big on her. She adjusts her glasses and grins at them. She greets Keith with a warm smile and equally warm hug and punches Lance in the shoulder next.

“You know, you don’t have to shout at me from across the bar,” she reprimands Lance, pushing him further down the booth. “I don’t think Mikey likes that. He’s gonna kick you out.”

“What are you talking about? Mikey loves me,” Lance shoots a wave to the bartender, who winks at Lance in response. “See? Miguel and I go way back.”

Pidge rolls her eyes and takes her seat next to Lance. “I’m blaming you if we’re ever banned from this place, like the last time,” she mutters. 

“Hey!” Lance says, and Keith kinda wants to hear that story but Pidge has already turned to him and began complaining about her boss. It catches Keith off guard, since it feels like Pidge is talking to him as if they’d seen each other yesterday. It makes him feel warm inside, welcome.

“Heeey, everybody!” Hunk says, a few minutes later, walking towards them with a tired smile. Keith scoots over, making space for Hunk in their circular booth. Hunk squeezes in, so Keith is squished up next to Lance, who shoots him a warm, crooked grin. 

“Where’s Shay?” Pidge asks, taking a sip from her Irish beer.

“Oh,” Hunk says. “She went to have dinner at Rax’s.”

“That’s her brother,” Lance whispers to Keith, filling him in. Keith nods and smiles in thanks.

“Allura called me earlier today, too,” Hunk continues. “She said she won’t be able to make it but she’s definitely coming next week.”

“Aw,” Pidge says and adds, joking, “I have been abandoned! Where is the female solidarity in here?” 

Hunk laughs and Lance rolls his eyes fondly. While Hunk starts “consoling” Pidge, Keith turns to Lance.

“Allura? Allura James?” Keith asks. Lance nods. God, Keith hasn’t seen her in forever. He used to be really good friends with the pretty cheerleader/academic decathlon champion, back in high school. In fact, she is solely responsible for Keith’s passing math grades and all the friendships Keith managed to have during their four years at Altea High. Including the people sitting next to him right now, eight years later. He wonders why they lost touch. But Keith also knows it’s probably on him. College had been so...

“Mmm,” Lance hums, stirring his mojito. He startles Keith out of his train of thought. “She’s working this fancy exec job at IBM, over at Armonk?” 

“Holy shit,” Keith says. He guesses it was to be expected, for Allura to be so successful at her age. She’s always been brilliant.

Lance chuckles. “I know!” he exclaims. “She and Nyma, her girlfriend, try to make it to our pub nights but the traffic is hell and Allura’s busy as fuck, so… yeah.” Keith hums in reply. “You’ll see her next Friday, though, that’s for sure.”

Keith smiles. Lance’s offhand comment about Keith joining them next week sends a warm feeling spreading through his body. “Cool,” he says. 

“So!” Lance says loudly, turning to the rest of their table. “Because we have been joined tonight by this excellent gentleman here,” he starts theatrically, clapping Keith’s shoulder. “I think some shots are in order.”

“Yeah!” Pidge and Hunk say in unison. 

And Lance turns to Keith with the biggest grin on his face, with his midnight blue eyes sparkling like the brightest stars in the sky, under the dim lights of the pub. Lance wiggles his eyebrows at him.

Keith thinks this must be the most beautiful view he’s seen in a while.

 

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Keith Kogane is a bit drunk, okay. It’s really been a while since the last time he drank more than one or two glasses of whiskey and it’s like his body has forgotten how to process alcohol since he graduated college. But it’s fine, he thinks, since he’s not the only one with the drunken flush on his cheeks and laughing way too much about things that probably aren’t that funny.

Lance had made them order almost every single shot on the menu. Pidge had made a big show of complaining about how it’s too much alcohol but Keith also saw how her eyes lit up at the sight of the rainbow of shot glasses that arrived at their table by the hands of Mikey the bartender. Things have gotten a bit blurry after that. The conversation eventually shifted to their high school days, and boy is Keith torn between amusement and embarrassment with every anecdote his friends pull up.

“Oh my god, remember when Lance dated Lucy?”

“Stop!” Lance says. “We don’t talk about that anymore!”

“What about that one time when Pidge--” Hunk dissolves into giggles. “When Pidge farted super loud in the middle of our math test.”

“Listen to me, in my defense, the burritos at the cafeteria--”

“Fuck, those were so bad.”

“I know, right?”

“Guys, guys. A classic-- remember when Keith set the Home Ec kitchen on fire?”

“ _ Hunk _ !”

“I  _ told _ you not to add the--”

“I know! I  _ know _ !” Keith covers his face with his hands. “I’ll never forget.”

“Remember senior prom?” 

“Oh god, why did we decide to get drunk for that?”

“It was the most terrible idea, but fuck, _ Allura _ \--”

“Don’t bring that up when she’s not here to defend herself, man, it’s not fair.”

“It’s  _ so _ funny, though.”

“Remember how we used to go roller skating?” Keith pipes up, thinking about the nights they used to spend under the multicolored strobe lights and the music, going around in circles forever. He remembers falling down on his ass so often, but enjoying the way Lance’s eyes always crinkled up as he held out his hand out to Keith, every time, to help him up. His light, playful voice,  _ you’re such a klutz, mullet boy _ .

“Aw, that was so much fun!” Pidge says.

“Oh my god,” Lance says. “Guys, I have the most brilliant idea.”

“What is it?”

“Let’s go skating.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah!” Lance checks his wrist watch. “It’s only 10. The night is young! And there’s that place down in Harlem that opens until late.”

“We’re twenty six,” Pidge says.

“Exactly, we are  _ adults _ and we can go skating if we want to,” Lance replies, matter-of-factly. He crosses his arms over his chest and sinks back into his seat next to Keith.

“Mm,” Keith hums, a soft smile adorning his features as he stares at the man sitting beside him. “You haven’t changed much, have you.”

Lance turns to him and when he sees Keith’s expression, he blushes a little. Lance leans over and pulls on a lock of hair on Keith’s fringe. “It seems that neither have you,” he says and gives Keith a smile, tongue between his teeth. “Let’s go skating.”

“Alright,” Keith finds himself agreeing, and so do Pidge and Hunk. They pay their tab, tipping Mikey generously for putting up with them, and head out into the streets of Manhattan.

They walk towards the nearest subway station, and Keith is suddenly amazed at how alive the city is. It’s like he’s seeing it for the first time. It’s so colorful and loud and bright, full of people laughing and singing, heading home or to a bar or a club, all alive. Just like him. Just like his friends.

He feels Lance staring at him as they go down the stairs of the station. Keith’s lips twitch into yet another smile.

 

When they get inside the subway car, Keith and Lance take two of the available seats. Hunk and Pidge settle down on the opposite side, having a very intense conversation about Hunk’s sporting goods company and the stock market, but Keith isn’t really paying attention to them. His tipsy mind can only focus on how Lance’s shoulder is pressed against his. The point of contact is almost dizzying.

Keith clears his throat, turning to Lance. “So, what have you been up to since high school?” Keith asks.

Lance puts his index finger on his chin. “Let’s see,” he says. “Well, I did end up doing theatre in college.”

“Mhm.”

“And now, I’m working as a stagehand at the Majestic,” Lance continues. 

“Shit, is that where Phantom of the Opera--”

“Yeah!” Lance nods excitedly. “It’s a lot of fun, honestly, and I get to see an awesome play for free almost every day. Matinés are a bitch, though, but at least I get Friday nights off-- all my coworkers are jealous-- and it pays really well.” Lance smiles. “Keeping me alive, you know, until I get my big break.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his eyes sparkling with hope and excitement. His smile drops a little. “It’s okay if it doesn’t happen, though,” he continues. “I like working behind the scenes, to be honest. But I’d like to work as a proper stage manager maybe. I love bossing people around,” he says the last part with a wink and Keith feels hot all over. Is he  _ flirting _ ?

“Enough about me, though, what’s it like to be Keith Kogane nowadays?” Lance tugs on a lock of Keith’s hair again. “Still writing?”

Keith bites his lip. “Uh,” he says, remembering the the boredom, the sameness. The daze, the numbness, the emptiness. Working a boring insurance job, living in a shitty apartment, the typewriter gathering dust back in his room. “I really think I peaked in high school.”

Lance straight up laughs at that. “That’s impossible! You’re out of your mind,” Lance says. Their stop is coming up, the train is slowing down. “You know, cause we never hooked up in high school.”

Time freezes. The subway’s door opens up. A rush of air. The glint of Lance’s grin. Keith’s wide, wide eyes and red, red cheeks. 

The beautiful man in front of Keith stands up, dusts himself off and heads towards the open doors where Hunk and Pidge are waiting. He looks back at Keith, still on his seat, probably looking ridiculous and shell-shocked. Lance puts his hand on his hip and rolls his eyes fondly.

“Come on, mullet man, we don’t have all night.”

It spurs Keith into action, following his friends out the subway, squeezing out just as the doors closed. Keith runs his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his wildly beating heart.

_ Yeah, definitely flirting. _

 

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“Um, Pidge?” Keith says.

They’re at the roller skating rink, and god if Keith felt overdressed at the bar, it was nowhere near this. At least Pidge is in a suit as well, he thinks. They’re sitting at a bench next to the rink, changing from their fancy work shoes into the roller skates they rented. Hunk and Lance are still at the counter, speaking with the bored teenager behind it about renting a locker. 

“What’s up?” Pidge says, tying up the laces of her skates, not looking at Keith.

“Uh,” Keith starts. He feels like he really needs to ask. The question has already made several laps around his brain since that comment at the subway. It’s a fair question, okay, especially since the last time he saw Lance, he was an eighteen year old boy and had been dating  _ girls _ . “Is Lance… gay?”

She turns to him then, raising an eyebrow. “Why, you interested?” she asks, her lips twitching. Keith feels the tips of his ears turn hot as he stammers a little. Pidge laughs. “No, he’s not gay. He’s bisexual. Pretty open about it, too.”

“Oh,” Keith says. “Cool.”

“Mmmhm,” Pidge says, standing up and floundering a little on her skates. “God, why did we agree to this?”

Keith smiles up at her, eyes crinkling. “It’s always been hard to say no to Lance.”

She grins and takes off her suit jacket, swinging it over her shoulder. She scoffs, “For you, maybe.”

Keith rolls his eyes. 

Their friends are making their way over now, skates and locker keys in hand. When they join Pidge and Keith by the bench, Lance grins. 

“Who’s ready to have some fun? 80’s style.”

 

Stepping into the rink feels to Keith like going back in time, without the DeLorean and altering the time-space continuum, of course. But still, Keith feels like he’s sixteen again, on a regular Friday night out with his friends. The rink is pretty similar to the one they used to go to when they were younger, only this one seems to be a bit bigger and the music plays a bit louder, but maybe he’s just getting old. The playlist is fun, though, a mixture of some funky late 70’s music, some top 40 hits from the 80s and a few modern artists thrown in. It’s like a perfect clash of the present and the past, with just the right amount of nostalgia and fun beats.

Keith takes a deep breath before he actually starts skating, one hand on the rail. He’s just not coordinated on wheels, okay. And he’s still a bit tipsy and it’s been a very long time since he had to stand on roller skates. Lance, however, rolls past Keith confidently, as if he skated every day. Hunk, too, but Keith also remembers that his Samoan friend used to play hockey in high school, so that explains the ease in his steps. 

Pidge seems to be in the same boat as Keith, so they skate around slowly, watching their friends chase each other around the rink, and chatting about Pidge’s job as a researcher and TA at Columbia University. Keith feels really proud of Pidge. She’s putting her amazing brain to work and having fun in the meantime, and Keith’s happy for her, really. But a familiar heavy feeling sinks into his stomach. His friend looks so happy, peaceful, changed. And he’s… a bit stuck.

“What about you, though?” Pidge says over the bubbly Cindy Lauper playing in the background. “Hunk says you’re working at an insurance company,” she continues. “It doesn’t seem like you.”

“I--uh.” Keith wobbles, knocking his skates against each other. He almost falls down, but he’s grateful for the hand he’s kept on the rail at all times. Pidge slows down to a stop in front of him.

“You okay?” Pidge asks.

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Let’s go again.”

Pidge nods and they resume their lap around the rink in silence. Hunk and Lance skate past them one or two times, laughing and pushing each other on their seemingly never ending race. Eventually, Keith speaks up.

“I hate my job,” he says.

Pidge hums. “Why are you still there, though?”

“I don’t know.” Keith sighs. “I don’t know what I should be doing with my life. I don’t know what I would do if I quit my job.”

“You could write,” Pidge suggests, shrugging.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” she asks. “You were good at it, back in high school. Y’know, from what I remember.”

“I don’t know what to write about,” he tells her. But it’s a bit of a lie, and Keith thinks Pidge knows because of the look she gives him. Keith has had this idea for a science fiction novel series about an intergalactic war and a giant mecha piloted by five paladins from Earth. He feels like Pidge might remember, because of her scarily accurate memory and the amount of time Keith spent talking about it when he was a teen. He must have dozens of unfinished drafts scattered through his apartment, half-assed scribbles in old notebooks, incomplete sketches of the robotic lions on napkins.

He just can’t seem to finish anything he starts. It’s never good enough. Keith feels like there’s something missing from whatever he writes. There’s no inspiration, no spark. So he just gave up a while back, and ignores the abandoned typewriter whenever he walks into his room.

“What about Voltron?” she actually says. Keith’s face lights up.

“You actually remember?”

“Of course I do. Pretty sure those two doofuses over there do too,” she replies, nodding back at Lance and Hunk, coming up behind them quick. It makes warmth curl in Keith’s chest. “It was always fun to re--whoa.”

Lance and Hunk come crashing at them, all breathless and winded and laughing. Keith had stepped aside, closer to the rail, just in time to not get trampled.

“I won!” Lance exclaims, leaning over Pidge as support. Hunk is next to him, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

“You cheated!” Hunk accuses, pointing a finger at Lance.

“Nuh-uh,” Lance says, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not my fault that you couldn’t dodge those teenagers over there.”

“You  _ pushed _ me so that they were in my way.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“Did n--”

“Are you twelve?” Pidge cuts in. At Lance’s pout in response, Keith snorts.

“Hunk is lying to you, though!” he says. “Don’t let those pretty brown eyes fool you.”

Hunk rolls those aforementioned pretty brown eyes and opens his mouth to reply when the song in the background switches to Juicy by Biggie. “Ohoho,” comes out of Hunk’s mouth instead.

He turns to look at Lance immediately, argument completely forgotten, eyes wide with excitement. They start rapping along in unison while they skate alongside Pidge and Keith. They know every single word, and if Keith is being honest, he’s a bit impressed. It’s fun watching his friends try to dance along as they skate, Lance trying really hard to make some hip hop moves while on wheels and Keith finds it very endearing.

After a few more laps around the rink, Hunk and Pidge decide to head to the snack bar for something to eat, leaving Keith and Lance by themselves, and god. Pidge winks at Keith before she steps out of the rink, which makes him blush a little. God, he’s been blushing a lot tonight, what the fuck.

As the music fades into a familiar funky tune and Whitney Houston starts singing, Lance skates slowly alongside Keith, hands behind his back. He raises an eyebrow at Keith, eyeing his hands still clutching onto the rail.

“Are you ever gonna let go of that?” Lance asks, a soft smile digging dimples into his cheeks. Keith replies with a violent shake of his head that makes him stumble a little on his skates. It makes Lance snort fondly.

“Are you sure?” Lance keeps going, skating closer to Keith, shoulders bumping one another. “Come on,” Lance says, extending his hand towards Keith. “ _ I wanna dance with somebody _ ,” he starts singing in time with the song. “ _ I wanna feel the heat with somebody _ .” Lance wiggles his fingers and his voice is so nice and Keith feels so warm and suddenly very brave, so he lets go of the rail and takes Lance’s hand, locking their fingers together.

Lance’s whole face lights up with a wide grin, squeezing Keith’s hand in his as he leads them away from the edge of the rink. Keith feels nervous, trying to quash the butterflies in his stomach. He’s not in high school anymore, god _ damnit _ . But Lance is pulling him along, looking at him like  _ that _ and… Keith feels breathless.

“I won’t make you regret this, mullet boy,” Lance tells him, the old nickname falling from his pretty lips so easily. They skate a lap around the rink, and Keith surprisingly doesn’t fall. He feels confident enough to start taking lengthy strides, with Lance singing along beautifully beside him, hopping in time with the music. Keith feels alive, so alive, more alive than he has in months, maybe years. Alive like the city, alive like the music, like the multicolored lights illuminating the room, alive like his friends, alive like Lance.  _ Alive _ . He can’t keep his gleeful laugh from escaping his lips. He’s just having so much  _ fun _ .

He lets Lance lead him around to eventually stop at the center of the rink as the song goes into the bridge. Lance is singing as he grabs both of Keith’s hands, facing each other. Lance has the biggest, breathless smile on his face and Keith’s heart’s beating so loud, oh my  _ god _ . Lance starts skating backwards, pulling Keith along forward, always with the music. 

“ _ Somebody whoo~, somebody whoo~, to hold me in his arms, oh, _ ” Lance sings, and winks at Keith. “ _ I need a man who’ll take a chance on a love that burns hot enough to last.”  _ He suddenly pulls Keith close, so close, their chests are pressing together and Keith feels like he’s on fucking fire. Lance places his hands on Keith’s shoulders and begins swaying. Keith can’t help but follow Lance’s steps, placing his hands on Lance’s hips as Whitney belts out the chorus again.

“ _ OH! I wanna dance with somebody _ ,” Keith starts singing, out of tune and out of breath, unable to contain his glee and his need to scream or  _ do _ something. He feels like he’s about to burst and Lance looks delighted at the development.

“ _ I wanna feel the heat with somebody, _ ” they sing together, breathless and giggling. “ _ Yeaaah, I wanna dance with somebody. With somebody who loves me. _ ”

And then Lance lets go of one of Keith’s hands, and he’s spinning him around and around and around. The rink is a blur, blue and red and purple lights flashing, glimpses of an elated smile and midnight blue eyes, and fuck, Keith can’t take it anymore. He tightens his grip on Lance’s hand to stop himself from spinning. Dizzy and thrilled, his skates knock against each other and he crashes into Lance’s chest, sending them tumbling to the floor. Keith lands on top of Lance, his forearms bracketing Lance’s face and he’s so close. So close, so close, so close. Keith isn’t thinking, not really, when he cups Lance’s face with one of his hands, stroking his freckled cheek softly.

“Keith, I--” Lance starts and god, his name sounds so good coming from Lance’s lips. His lips. Keith’s brain isn’t even done wondering what those lips might taste like when he closes the gap between them and kisses Lance. Keith breathes him in, feels his lips so soft move hesitantly against his own. His entire brain seems to have short circuited and all he can think is Lance, Lance,  _ Lance _ . He’s  _ here _ . He’s  _ kissing _ him. They’re on the floor, in the middle of the rink, and he’s  _ kissing _ him.

Lance places a hand on Keith’s chest and pushes him away gently. When his eyes focus, he sees Lance. Lance McClain, in all his glory, with red, red cheeks and wide blue eyes, full of an emotion that Keith can’t quite read. But it’s good. It’s perfect. Lance smiles.

“Still think you peaked in high school?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Keith says and kisses him again.

 

⊹  . ·. 　　  　   
　　.　　　　　　  · . 　 ˚    
 　 * . 　  · 　 　    
　 ✵  　　　 ·　　　    
　 　 　 . 　  　　　   
*  　　 　·   ✹ 　✷ 　　   
　　 　　  　 * ·  ⊹

 

After the rink kicks them out at closing time, Lance makes a huge fuss of how they can’t go home just then because the night is  _ still _ young so Hunk suggests they go back to his place. They take a cab this time, Pidge, Lance and Keith squished up on the backseat. As they drive to the address Hunk gave the driver, Lance takes Keith’s hand and they watch the lively city fly by from the window with some soft rock playing from the radio. Keith just can’t stop smiling.

When they arrive, Shay is curled up on a loveseat in her and Hunk’s penthouse apartment, overlooking Central Park. She greets them warmly, and offers them something to drink as they all sit down around the coffee table.

From the very comfortable sofa, next to Lance, Keith looks around in amazement. Honestly, he is floored by how fancy this place is. He knew Hunk was doing very well financially because of the conversation they had earlier this week at his cluttered desk, but actually seeing it was a different story. The place is big, luminous and warm. It feels like a home, and that’s what gets to Keith. He thinks of his shoebox apartment, all the way in Queens, full of take out cartons and dust and boxes he never got around to unpack. The familiar sinking feeling in his stomach makes a comeback, but he isn’t really allowed to linger on it as Hunk comes back with his arms full of board games for them to play. Pidge jumps up in excitement and takes Pictionary from Hunk’s hands and demands they all play.

It’s a lot of fun, honestly, Keith doesn’t even remember the last time he sat down with friends to do something like this. He teams up with Lance, and Hunk with Pidge and Shay. Of course, he and Lance get their butts kicked since Lance’s drawings don’t make any sense at all. Keith doesn’t mind at all, though. He just sits back and enjoys the way Lance’s ultra competitive side takes over, how his brow furrows in concentration, tongue between his teeth, when it’s his turn to draw, how his eyes crinkle up with a smile whenever Keith guesses his drawing correctly, how he rolls his eyes and pretends to be annoyed when Keith doesn’t.

It’s 3 a.m. when Shay excuses herself to go to bed, kissing Hunk’s forehead before she goes. The intensity of the game goes down after that, and around 4 a.m., when Pidge can barely keep her eyes open, she calls a cab. She complains about how she let herself be drawn in by Lance’s antics once more, but everyone knows she had as much fun as they all did. When she hugs them all goodnight, Lance stands up, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his back.

“I guess Keith and I are leaving too, huh,” he says nonchalantly.

“Um, I guess we are,” Keith replies. It  _ is _ pretty late after all. Lance turns back to him and grins. 

“Alright then,” Lance says, and they move to Hunk put the remnants of their game inside the box and bid him goodnight.

“This was so much fun, Hunk, thank you,” Keith says earnestly, hugging his friend really tightly.

“I’m so glad you came man, honestly,” Hunk says, smiling at Keith when they pull away. “It was really nice to hang out with you again. We’ll see you next Friday, right?”

Keith grins. “Of course.”

“Awesome,” Hunk says. “Goodnight guys!”

“Goodnight,” Keith and Lance say together, and Hunk shuts the door behind them.

In the dimly lit foyer, Keith is suddenly very aware about the fact that he and Lance are finally alone for the second time that night. The realization makes the butterflies in his stomach wake up again.

“So,” Lance breaks the silence.

“So,” Keith says. Neither of them move, not even to press the elevator button. Keith doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want this night to end. He wants to stretch it out, infinitely, turning seconds into hours, minutes into months, hours into years. And… he thinks, he hopes that Lance feels the same. He turns to look at the beautiful man beside him, who, to Keith’s delight, is already looking back at him. They stare at each other until both of them break into twin smiles and chuckles.

“Wanna go up to the roof?” Lance asks, motioning to the second door in the foyer Keith hadn’t even noticed.

“Yeah,” he responds, eyes shining.

They take the stairs to the roof where the cool night breeze welcomes them as soon as they open the door. Lance walks towards one of the air conditioner boxes near the ledge and climbs on top of it, extending a hand to Keith to help him up. It’s kinda cramped up there, but they make it work, their thighs pressed up against the other’s, their legs swinging down the side. Keith places his hands behind him for support, and bites his lip with a smile when Lance places his on top.

They stay like that for a while, in silence, watching the gathering dawn over Central Park. It’s such a beautiful view, Keith thinks. He feels like he doesn’t appreciate the beauty of New York City that often. He often thinks of the city as this cold, hard monster that keeps him trapped on the endless cycle of boredom, of sameness. The daze, the numbness, the emptiness.

Somehow, sitting there, on the roof with Lance, he feels like he sees the city in a brand new light. It feels bright. It feels hopeful. It feels like the setting of countless adventures. Sitting there, with Lance, he feels like he understands why there’s so many songs written about the city.

“It’s magical,” Keith finally says, almost breathlessly.

“Yes, it is,” Lance says, turning to Keith. Keith meets his gaze with a smile, removing his hand from under Lance’s to cup his cheek. Lance closes his eyes and leans into the touch. It makes Keith’s heart skip a beat. He can’t help it. He has to kiss him again. And so he does.

Kissing Lance feels like nothing Keith has ever experienced. It’s like his entire body responds to the sweet taste of Lance’s soft lips moving against his. Every fiber of his being vibrates with an emotion Keith can’t describe. The feeling is too grand, too powerful to even try to do it. He can’t let go. Lance’s lips feel… retro, in a way. Keith kinda feels like he’s being pulled back in time, but is brought back into the future with every flick of Lance’s tongue, with the way Lance’s teeth catch Keith’s bottom lip, with every little happy sigh that escapes Lance’s mouth.

When they finally pull away, the sky is fading from blue to pink and the clouds are turning purple. Lance smiles at Keith softly, and then places his head against Keith’s shoulder to watch the sun rise. Keith slings an arm around Lance’s shoulder and pulls him closer. It’s nice. It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.

“You never answered my question,” Lance says eventually.

“Hm?”

“What’s it like to be Keith Kogane nowadays?” Lance asks. God, the question on the subway feels like it happened ages ago instead of mere hours.

Keith sighs. “I-- I don’t know,” Keith tells him, trying to ignore the hollowness in his chest that comes back whenever he thinks about his life. “It’s… not what I expected.”

“Are you happy, though?”

Keith stays quiet for a while, playing with a lock of Lance’s hair, thinking about his cold apartment, Shiro’s messages piling up on the answering machine, about his stupid insurance job. The boredom, the sameness. The daze, the numbness, the emptiness.

“I don’t think so,” he says quietly.

“It doesn’t have to be like that, you know,” Lance replies.

“It’s not easy.”

“Never said it was.”

Lance takes Keith’s hand off his hair and locks their fingers together over his shoulder. The first rays of the sun are finally peeking through the horizon. The sounds of the city waking up surround them, accompanied by the soft chirping of the birds in Central Park. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” Keith says.

“You don’t have to figure it out right now, though,” Lance says. “And hey, you have us, right? I know we haven’t really seen each other in a while, but we’re here for you, Keith. I’m here for you.”

“I just feel like, no matter what I do, what I try to change, my life is nothing special. Nothing in my life is special,” Keith admits. 

“Hey,” Lance says. “It’s 1995. You’re 26 years old. You’re in New York City.” He lifts his head from Keith’s shoulder and shoots him a smile. “There’s something special about that, wouldn’t you say?”

The sincerity in Lance’s voice makes the hollowness in Keith’s chest begin to unravel, filling up with warmth and… something. Something Keith can’t quite name. He finds his lips twitching to form a small smile that inevitably curls into a full grin. It makes something snap in him. He feels… he  _ feels _ . 

“I- I have to go,” he says, and it doesn’t sound mean or anything. He just. Has to go. He presses his lips to Lance’s once more, hard, quick, sweet. He takes his ballpoint pen from his white button-up and writes his phone number on Lance’s forearm. “Call me.”

“Oh,” Lance says, still smiling. “Alright.”

Keith hops off the box into solid ground. “I’ll see you, then?” Keith asks, hopeful.

“Of course,” Lance replies, still sitting comfortably on top of the air conditioner.

“And Lance?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” Keith says, moving towards the door to the stairs. When he opens the door, he hears Lance’s voice, which makes him turn back one last time.

“Hey, mullet boy,” he calls out.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we got to redo the time,” Lance tells him, his huge smile glinting with the rising sun, eyes shining like the brightest stars.

“Me too,” Keith says. And really, he is. He really, truly is.

 

˚ 　　 * 　· . ˚  ✧　    
✹     　 · 　   ✵ .    
　　 ✺ 　　　 .    
  ·　✷  * ✺ 　　　　   
. 　　  　　 . 　 　　    
✦ .　　      　 . ✺

 

Keith Kogane practically runs down the stairs, all the way down from the roof into the streets. The streets of the city that’s just waking up. It’s a new day. 

_ It’s 1995. _

He takes the subway, all the way to Brooklyn. The cart is empty around him, except for the man sleeping on the other side of the train. It’s funny, Keith thinks, how everything feels so new. He switches trains once, and when he finally gets off at his stop, he rushes all the way to his apartment building, watching the sun play with the windows of the buildings all around him. The street that once felt so boring to him is somehow calling him to adventure today.

He takes the stairs again, all the way up to his place, two at a time. 

_ He’s 26 years old. _

He leaves his shoes and jacket by the door and gets into the kitchen, brewing a cup of coffee for himself. It’s funny, Keith thinks, how he’s stayed up all night and he doesn’t feel tired at all. He takes the mug between his hands and goes to the small balcony off his living room, to drink his coffee while watching the streets below. There’s the paperboy on his route, the early morning joggers warming up, a few taxi cabs that fly by.

_ He’s in New York City. _

It’s funny, Keith thinks, that after so many years of the boredom, the sameness, the numbness, the emptiness… he just needed a night like this-- a sleepless night, full of laughter and sweet kisses and adventure-- to wake him up. To  make him see. To help him break free from the daze. To make him feel alive. He knows that there’s still work to do, that it’s not going to be an easy road to create the life he wants for himself. But for the first time in a long time, his future doesn’t seem so bleak. 

He heads to his room after pouring himself a second cup of coffee. He sets it on the desk, at the corner of his room. He sits down, for the first time in years, in front of his old typewriter, and blows the dust away. He opens a drawer and finds a blank sheet of paper, sets it on the machine, cracks his knuckles and Keith Kogane starts to write.

 

_ Yeah, there’s something special about that. _

 

.  *    
　  　 　　 . 　　　　 　　　　 ✦  ·   
*  ✹ 　.    
·　　  · 　 *  . 　 * 　　    
　.  · *    
.  　 * ·　　　　　 　 *  *   
 ✺ ˚  ·　

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you guys think about this. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> Say hi on twitter! @lanceconpecas (which stands for Lance with freckles in Spanish)


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